May there always be angels to watch over you
by fantasydancer
Summary: King Oropher is dead, and the army of the Last Alliance is weary after the Battle of Dagorlad. Two sons of Elendil plus a herald of Gil-Galad together never end well. Especially not when they're left to their thoughts. And what of the new king of Greenwood? Contains non-sexual spanking. Don't like. Don't read.
1. Chapter 1

_****__**Disclaimer: I do not own Middle-Earth, nor its people, sadly. I only own my OC's.**_

_**Warnings: This story contains spanking between two (somewhat) adult males. It's NOT slash, but I suppose if you wish to see it that way, then that's up to you.**_

_** A/N: Song used throughout the story (though the verses are not in order) and for the title is called "Sleepsong" by the Secret Garden. I also appreciate reviews and constructive criticism since I edit my own stories. Flames will be laughed at over second breakfast. So without further ado, enjoy!**_

_May there always be angels to watch over you_ _To guide you each step of the way_ _To guard you and keep you safe from all harm_ _Loo-li, loo-li, lai-lay_

Elrond bid Isildur and Anárion farewell for the night and turned toward his and Gil-Galad's tent. Perhaps he would get a few hours of rest, though he knew nightmares would likely keep him awake for the better part of the night.

He lifted the flap of the tent and made to go toward his side of the shelter. The tent was larger than most, but not as large as the command tent beside it. Elrond looked over to Gil-Galad's empty cot which was currently unoccupied, as he expected it to be. The High King of the Noldor would likely be busy in the command tent planning strategies for the siege on Barad-Dur.

Elrond sat on the bed and removed his boots, glad to finally let his feet be free. He then pulled off his armor and stained clothing and threw it on the floor beside his bed. He drew on a clean tunic and pair of leggings and was turning away from the wash barrel where he had scrubbed the grime from his face when he caught a movement in the shadows beside the fire.

"Where have you been, _pen neth_?" A familiar voice called from the far side of the room.

Elrond jumped slightly, then winced, and turned to face his lord and king.

"Gil-Galad."

The High King of the Noldor raised an eyebrow slightly. Not that he minded, but Elrond had always addressed him formally, even when they were alone. Strange to think that he wasn't doing so now. Nevertheless Gil-Galad didn't comment and instead said, "Aye. It is me? Now answer my question. Where were you? You, Isildur, and Anárion have been missing since the sun set."

Elrond considered lying and saying that they had not even left camp, but he had never been very good at it. Elros had tried to teach him when they were younger, and it had merely ended both of them up over Maglor's knee.

"We went for a walk." He said meekly.

Gil-Galad arched one eyebrow. "Indeed? And you didn't think to tell anyone where you were going."

"But we didn't go very far from camp!" He protested. It was lie, most definitely and Gil-Galad of course saw right through it.

"My scouts reported you three went as far as the northern tip of the Ithilien woods."

Of course Gil-Galad would have had scouts following them. "I am sorry, my lord, but after everything that has been happening…we needed to clear our heads."

Gil-Galad nodded. His tone was reasonable as he spoke. "I understand that, little one. You are a great and fierce warrior, but war does not suit you. However, that does not condone your misbehavior. What did I tell you just after we had returned to camp?"

Elrond had blushed at Gil-Galad's compliment, but now he groaned quietly. He looked down as he spoke, "You said 'Try and get some rest. I will be in the command tent for a good part of the night. And if you wish to speak with Elendil's sons, then stay in the perimeter of camp'."

Gil-Galad nodded. "Aye. Then we need no further discussion. You know the rules and the consequences of breaking them. Now come," He patted his knee in a silent command. "Though we have not been here many times nor in quite some time, you know what is required of you, do you not, _pen neth_?"

Elrond swallowed. "Aye, my lord." He took a few cautious steps towards Gil-Galad, anxiousness settling in the pit of his stomach. When he was within arm's reach Gil-Galad decided to take pity upon his young herald, grabbing his arm and gently tugging him over his lap.

A small explosion of breath fell from Elrond's lips as he found himself in a familiar yet not familiar position. It had indeed been many years since he'd been over anyone's knee and the apprehension was worse than ever at having to be put over Gil-Galad's knee now as though he were but an elfling. He let loose a shudder and blinked back the tears that had already gathered in his eyes, more so from the scolding he'd just been given than anything else.

As Gil-Galad began to draw Elrond's leggings down a small cry of protest rose up from the occupant over his lap. Elrond shot back a hand to grasp Gil-Galad's wrist. The High King of the Noldor raised his eyebrows, shocked. Never had Elrond tried such a thing before, but then again it had been awhile since his last spanking.

A timid voice ventured, "P-please, my l-lord. At least allow me to keep my breeches up."

If possible Gil-Galad's eyebrows rose higher. His young friend was most definitely out of sorts this day. He pried Elrond's hand away and fastened it to the small of his back. "You know how this works, elfling. Have I ever spanked you with your breeches up?"

Elrond winced. Why had he tried to stop him? Why, oh why did he do such a foolish thing? It was more something Elros would have done than Elrond. "Nay, my lord."

"Aye, never have I done such a thing, therefore it shall be no different now." Gil-Galad drew his leggings down to the tops of his knees. Elrond closed his eyes as the whoosh of air hit his suddenly bare backside.

After that Gil-Galad wasted no time in peppering his bottom with a flurry of hard smacks. Elrond buried his face in the crook of his free arm. Elrond always seemed to crumble fairly quickly. Usually it was guilt that did him in. But today Elrond was determined not to make a sound. He was far too old to carry on when over someone's lap.

When Elrond's bottom was rather rosy Gil-Galad slowed his smacks enough to be heard, he but didn't lessen the force behind them. "You are awfully quiet, _pen neth_."

Elrond felt a few tears tumble down his cheeks, but he bit back the wails that longed to escape.

"Why are we here, _tithen edhel_?" Gil-Galad's softly stern voice asked. He could see Elrond's stubborn mind working, trying his best to stay silent, and Gil-Galad would not have it. He was determined to see to it that Elrond would not do something as mindless as this again. The young one could have been killed, or worse. And if the actual spanking was not enough to incite Elrond to speech and remorse, then his guilt most definitely would.

Gil-Galad landed a harder smack and Elrond let loose a stifled grunt. Ah, so close. Tears silently flowed down the young one's face

"Answer me, Elrond. Now." Another hard smack proceeded by a stifled yelp.

Gil-Galad tried a different tactic. One he knew would cause Elrond's guilt to overwhelm him until he was liable to explode. He hated to do so, but it must be done. "Perhaps, young one, you think that I am disciplining you unjustly. You are, after all an officer, and though you are answerable to me for misdeeds, you felt that this simply was not one."

Elrond went rigid for a moment before he let loose an uncharacteristic bellow, "No! Of course I am a-answerable to you! This is not unj-just. I could've been…" Elrond trailed off quietly, his glassy eyes filled with horror as he envisioned what ghastly fates could have befallen him and his friends.

"Oh, Gil-Galad." He breathed. Gil-Galad slowed his pace a bit more now and also lessened his force behind his blows as Elrond's bottom had become quite red. But they were not yet through.

"Aye, _tithen pen_. I know." That was all it took for the Lord of Imladris to shatter. He broke into repentive sobs. Gil-Galad released his wrist and Elrond drew his arm up so he could hide in his folded arms.

Gil-Galad continued spanking lightly for now as he spoke. "Shhh, I know, little one. They are terrifying images, are they not?"

All Elrond could manage was a nod.

Gil-Galad accepted that and went on, sterner this time. "Now, it was very naughty for you to have disobeyed my orders and gone outside the perimeter of camp, was it not?"

Elrond nodded. "Y-yes, s-sir!"

"Aye, you knew it was dangerous, foolish, and I would not be at all pleased by it. So why did you do it? Why did you do it?"

Elrond sobbed, but his bottom was very hot and very sore by now, and when Gil-Galad tipped up his knee and began spanking his sit spots and the tops of his thighs. Ai! Elrond longed to wail the camp down.

"W-was scared!" He cried, no longer quite able of his normally eloquent speech. "O-Orp-p-pher was d-dead and I was sc-scared you would be t-too!" Oh, to have to admit something of the sort.

Gil-Galad lowered his knee and returned to Elrond's rather alarmingly red bottom with much lighter swats than before. Elrond sobbed into his hands for a long while, not noticing when Gil-Galad finally stopped spanking him.

"Shh," Gil-Galad murmured as he rubbed Elrond's back. "I understand that that might have scared you, little one. 'Tis alright to be afraid. But all is well now. I am here. And you are safe here with me. So what have you to say to me for your naughtiness?"

Elrond choked on a sob before lifting his head and turning it to face Gil-Galad. His eyes were still red and glassy with tears, and tears still streamed down his cheeks. He took a deep breath before answering though. "S-sorry, Gil'glad. I-I'm sorry for misb-misb-mis'having."

Gil-Galad chuckled inwardly, but outwardly he nodded in acceptance. "Very good, _tithen pen_. You are forgiven."

Gil-Galad let Elrond lie over his lap for a few more minutes before as gently as possible drawing his leggings over his aching backside. He then slowly turned his young friend and helped him to sit up on his lap. Elrond rested his head against Gil-Galad's shoulder as a few shudders wracked his body and tears still coursed down his cheeks.

Gil-Galad wrapped his arms around his distressed herald and rocked him slowly, crooning words of reassurance in his ear. After some time Gil-Galad drew back a bit and smoothed the damp stray hairs from Elrond's face.

"Shh," He whispered. "All is well, and all is over and forgiven." Then he spoke the words of reassurance that Elrond had ever felt comforting when he was distressed. "You did well, _pen neth_. You were very brave and as ever I am very proud of you."

Elrond smiled sleepily in return and buried his face against Gil-Galad's tunic. Gil-Galad chuckled. His friend must have been tremendously exhausted to have left behind much of his usual decorum.

"How are you, my herald? Will you live?"

Elrond nodded. "Aye. I am fine. Just tired."

Gil-Galad chuckled again lightly. "Aye, I know. Shh, rest now. You are safe here. We are both safe here."

Elrond looked up at him and asked, his thoughts clearly muddled, "You promise nothing will happen to you or me?"

Gil-Galad smiled down at him, but it did not reach his eyes. How could he promise such a thing? He didn't even know himself how this war was to end. Still he found himself looking down into that trusting childlike gaze and saying, "Aye, I promise I am not going anywhere. At least not for a very long time."

Elrond seemed content with that answer. He rested his head against Gil-Galad's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat for some time.

After a while Gil-Galad gently pried the young one off of him and laid him down onto the bed. He covered him with a blanket and made to return to the command tent when he heard a cry of protest from behind him. He turned to see a stricken young face peering back at him.

"Please, please, Gil-Galad. Please stay."

Gil-Galad's heart melted at the plea and the beseeching eyes. His eyes softened and he nodded. The others had all already been dismissed from the command tent earlier and told to go and rest. So it wasn't as though Gil-Galad would have gotten anything done anyways. He moved back to the bed and sat down, gathering up Elrond before leaning back. Elrond clearly was without much of his propriety at the moment because he snuggled against his friend and king and was asleep within moments.

Gil-Galad lay quietly for a time, listening to the sound of Elrond's deep breathing, and the sounds of the camp around them. Thankfully no one had dared to interrupt them earlier though he doubted anyone would have. The sounds of a spanking were quite regularly heard, especially from Oropher's tent, what with his rascally young son having come to battle as well.

"I see you found your recalcitrant elfling." Gil-Galad turned his head so he could see his friend better in the dim firelight.

"Aye. And how fares your wayward sons?" He asked as Elendil made his way to a chair and sat down heavily beside the fire.

"Sore, but asleep now. Which is why I cannot stay long. They will sense I left soon enough."

Gil-Galad nodded and glanced down at his own wayward charge. "They are a handful sometimes. Especially both of your troublemakers and Elrond together. I wonder at times why I have not begun to have grey hairs."

Elendil chuckled at this and ran a hand through his own hair which had more than a few grey streaks in it. "Aye. And mine with sons of their own even. But is why we love them so."

It was Gil-Galad's turn to chuckle wryly. "Aye, indeed." Then he added solemnly, "Have you seen how Oropher's son, Thranduil fares?"

Elendil shook his head. "Nay, he is missing. I heard his father's second in command was searching for him, but the boy is grieved. There is no telling where he might have wondered off to."

Gil-Galad nodded in agreement. Though he and Oropher had never gotten along, he did fear for his son. He was much younger than Elrond even and now he had suddenly come to kingship.

Elendil looked over at Elrond with a fond look. Though he was older in years than the Elven lord Elrond had always given deference to him as though he were an elder.

"Did Elrond ask you to promise something?" He asked suddenly.

Gil-Galad gave him a knowing look and sighed. "About how nothing would happen to you?"

Elendil nodded. "Aye. Gil-Galad gave him a sad smile. "Aye, it broke my heart, but I made it. I told them I would be here as for a long time as I could."

Elendil smiled faintly. "I told my little ones much the same."

Elrond stirred a bit in his sleep, but Gil-Galad shushed him and stroked his soft hair for a moment and he fell back into a deep sleep. Gil-Galad smiled faintly and kissed Elrond's brow before looking back to his friend.

Suddenly both kings winced as a wail rose up over the camp. The High King of the Noldor and the High King of Gondor and Arnor both shared knowing looks.

Gil-Galad spoke first, "I believe that Fëaruin has recovered his elfling."

Pen neth- young one

Tithen pen- little one

Tithen edhel- little elfling


	2. Chapter 2

**_A/N: Wow. I think this is the faster I have ever gotten something edited and published. And all thanks to all your wonderful reviews. I feel the need to apologize that there are no spanked elflings in this chapter. Only sons of Elendil. But never fear! I saved the best distressed Middle-Earthling for last. So you shall have your Thranduil in the next chapter. ;)_**

* * *

_May you sail fair to the far fields of fortune_ _With diamonds and pearls at your head and your feet_ _And may you need never to banish misfortune_ _May you find kindness in all that you meet_

Elendil wasted no such time as waiting for his sons to come creeping back into the tent like he knew Gil-Galad was planning. Instead as soon as his sons turned the corner of the command tent Elendil grabbed the nearest one's arm, spun him around and sent a flurry of hard smacks to his backside.

Isildur cried out in surprise and pain. "Father!" He yelped indignantly.

Elendil released him and grabbed Anárion, subjecting him to the same treatment. He cried out as well.

When Elendil released his youngest they both stood in front of him, eyes downcast, rubbing their bottoms petulantly.

"Where in Arda have you two been?"

"Speaking with Elrond." Isildur answered quietly, taking on the role of older brother and answering first.

Elendil bit back his rage. As expected his youngest son, ever the diplomat, caught this.

"Oh, Father, please do not be angry with us!" He cried.

Elendil's eyes softened at the childish plea and he sighed. He ran a tired hand down his face and stepped closer to his sons. Resting a comforting hand upon each one's shoulder and looking between the two, he spoke. "I am not angry with you. I was merely worried. You both went off with Elrond, and Gil-Galad and I had thought that perhaps something had happened to you three. We were worried you had been taken hostage until the scouts reported to us about you. Why did you not say where you were going? And furthermore, I told you if you went to walk off the post-battle anxiety you were to stay in camp, did I not?"

Both nodded and looked down. "Sorry, Father." Isildur whispered.

"Sorry, _Ada_." Anárion said, slipping into his preferred name for his father in the Sindarin language.

Elendil sighed again and then looked around them, thankful that the darkness of the shadows had covered them from any prying eyes.

"Whose idea was it?" He asked curiously. They were all going to be disciplined. It made no difference whose idea it had been. But Elendil was simply curious.

Anárion glanced worriedly at his older brother. Isildur looked pale in the dim light.

"I did, father." His eldest replied quietly. Then his voice grew stronger. "I-I suggested we take a break from all the seriousness and clear our heads, and there was absolutely no way we were going to be able to do so _inside_ the camp what with everything going on. So I suggested we take a walk out for a bit."

"All the way to the northern tips of Ithilien where Sauron's spies are hidden everywhere?"

Isildur gulped and shot his father a wild and surprised glance. So did Anárion.

"How—?" Anárion started, but his father cut him off.

"Gil-Galad's scouts." He answered dismissively. Then, "Come." He turned and began stalking toward his own tent. His sons shared a tent further down, but he preferred to have this discussion in his own. His sons' was further into camp, where anyone might hear the proceedings. But Elendil's stood beside Gil-Galad's in the midst of the other high officers, so any that heard would not deem to make a spectacle out of it.

Both of his sons followed behind him on weary feet. They knew when an order had been given after all.

He sat on his large cot, beckoning for Anárion to come forth first. He directed Isildur to sit in the chair placed by the fire. Both boys did as they were told knowing it was expected of them. Anárion made his way to his father slowly, but without protest.

He lowered his breeches and lay over his father's knees with a shudder. Elendil rubbed his youngest son's back for a moment, relaxing him further. There was no need for any more talk. Both of his boys knew why they were here.

And with that thought Elendil pulled his boy close and raised his hand, bringing it down in a hard SMACK!

Anárion gasped and then bit his lip. His father had never been much of one for conversation when he was dealing out chastisement. Instead he preferred to let his hand talk for him. And it did a fine job, Anárion had thought wryly. After some time as the burn began to build up he whimpered and shifted a bit as though trying to lessen the sting.

"Shh, settle down, lad. We are nowhere near finished."

Anárion's whimpers were louder after hearing that.

Isildur squirmed in his seat uncomfortably. He'd always hated watching his little brother being reprimanded, especially when he also had a spanking coming himself. His father had at first always disciplined them separately, but as they grew older and one or both were due a spanking it found them both in the same room, attentive to the other's chastisement. They were merely a silent reassurance to one another that all would be well soon.

Still he winced as a rather forceful smack landed on his brother's now rather dark pink backside and a muffled cry escaped his lips. Muffled because Anárion had buried his face into the blankets of the bed.

Tears began making their way down his cheeks, many of them from his thoughts of earlier when he'd been talking with his brother and Elrond.

What if his father was killed in this battle? Cut down just like King Oropher. His father was strong and not rash, but this was a major war, and they were fighting with forces they couldn't hope to oppose.

Suddenly his tears turned to sobs, deep, ragged and heart-wrenching.

His father could be killed. They could all be killed. Everything could be lost. Anarion had already left his home and many of his friends. And Anárion couldn't lose anyone or anything else.

He grabbed his father's calf, holding on for dear life as the sobs wracked his body. He hugged his father's leg as though it would keep his father alive and well forever. As though it could save them all. He suddenly didn't want to be anywhere else than over his beloved father's lap having his backside tanned like a young boy.

Elendil stopped, shocked. He had never seen his son reduced to this so quickly. He turned his son over quickly and sat him on his lap, keeping aware of his throbbing bottom. Anárion gasped for breath and coughed, as Elendil rubbed his back and spoke to him, his voice softly stern so as to get him to listen. "Anárion. Anárion listen to me. You are going to make yourself sick, lad. Shh, calm yourself. Take deep breaths. That's it, little one. Good." He rubbed his back soothingly and Anárion turned to bury his face in his father's shoulder and grasp at him with such fierceness that Elendil near cried out in surprise.

He continued to whisper soothing words to him, but Anárion just cried all the harder. Elendil glanced up at his eldest son who seemed just as surprised as his father.

"Anárion!" Elendil suddenly said sharply, pulling his son back so he could look at him. If gentle comforting would not calm him then perhaps shocking him into silence would work.

Anárion sat up rigidly having not expected to be spoken to in such a harsh tone.

"Calm down, young one." Elendil continued, his voice kinder this time. "Now tell me what has you so distraught."

"Or-p-pher's dead! A-and you could b-be too, _Ada_! A-and brother, and Elrond, and everybody!"

Elendil looked into the frightened eyes of his child for a moment and then pulled him back to him, holding him tightly and shushing him. How childlike his son was even as old as he was with four children of his own. But his sons had ever been this way. Always seeking their own father's love and reassurance just as their own children did.

Finally Elendil drew his son back again and Anárion sat, looking all of ten years old again. "Now," He brushed the stray hairs from his son's face. "You will listen to me, both of you." He looked over to Isildur who was sitting silently in his chair. He looked up at his father, tears glistening in his eyes as well.

"This war has not gone well, but it has gone far better than we could've dared to hope at first. Not even the wisest amongst us know how this battle will end. You two have been into battle before. There are almost always loses, and each and every one of us come to battle knowing this."

"But you won't let anything happen to you, right Ada?" Anárion asked, his voice sleepy.

Elendil shifted him a bit so that his bottom rested more fully on his thigh. Anárion hissed, but he was fully awake once more.

Elendil glanced at his oldest son who was sitting quietly, his eyes downcast. He watched him carefully as he spoke. "Nay, all will be well, child. Your brother and I will be fine."

Isildur glanced up and father and son shared a look. Isildur understood that his father was merely making the promise to reassure Anárion.

His brother didn't need to know that though so Isildur smiled fondly at his brother and said, "Aye. All will be well, little brother."

Anárion smiled softly in return and Elendil rubbed his back a moment more before saying, "Now let us have this mischief over with."

He turned his son so quickly that the only thing Anárion had time to do was gasp.

"Y-You are not yet through!" He cried.

Elendil chuckled slightly at his son's forthright insolence. "Nay, little one. Not quite. But almost."

And with that Elendil began spanking again. It didn't take nearly as long for Anárion to begin crying this time. But his cries were no longer from a deeper anguish. It was merely crying from a spanking and nothing more, and though Elendil grieved at making his children cry at all he would rather have the latter tears than the former ones.

When he deemed Anárion to be fully repentive he drew the spanking to an end. Once his son had quieted Elendil lifted him from his lap and set him on his feet. Anárion's hands flew out to grasp his father's shoulders and steady himself. Elendil gently pulled his breeches back over his sore bottom to which Anárion winced at. Elendil smiled warmly at him and stood to help his son over to the chair which Isildur had evacuated quickly in order to allow his little brother to take his seat.

Anárion stared at it in distaste, but with a light swat to get him moving he gingerly sat, his foot tucked under him so as to relieve as much pressure from his abused bottom as possible.

Anárion gave Isildur a small smile of encouragement as Elendil gently took his oldest son's arm and led him over to the bed, repeating the same process he had with his youngest. He pulled him to his side and Isildur drew down his breeches before placing himself over his father's lap.

Elendil drew him close. He could feel the tense back muscles under his left arm and he rubbed soothing circles for a moment as he had with his youngest. Then he briefly rested his hand on Isildur's pale backside in warning before drawing his hand up and bringing it down.

Isildur always attempted to remain stoic for the entirety of a spanking. He had never managed to do so thus far, but he still tried.

Elendil shook his head at his child's stubborn customary silence. He would break soon enough and until then Elendil was content to continue.

Anárion squirmed uncomfortably, both from his own stinging bottom and for his brother. He loathed watching his older brother get spanked. Almost as much as he hated getting the spanking himself. But his brother was always there for him, so Anárion did his best to return the favor.

And it also bothered Anárion how his brother could remain so silent. Isildur would cry silently at first, and then after Anárion thought he could watch no longer Isildur would let out a bursting sob. It was downhill from there and normally Isildur's spanking was over fairly quickly after that.

Anárion had once wondered why his brother didn't just start crying like that from the onset of a spanking, for surely it would get him a reduced sentence, but then he realized that it was likely because their father would know he was acting.

Suddenly a small whimper escaped from Isildur. He was doing his best not to think about what might have happened to himself, his brother, and Elrond if servants of Sauron had caught them. But the more he tried not to think about it, the more the visions haunted him.

They could have been killed, or worse, kidnapped and taken alive. A shudder escaped Isildur. There was no telling what Sauron might have done to them if he had of caught them. The herald of the High King of the Noldor and lord of Imladris, and the kings of Gondor would've made excellent bargaining chips.

A sob broke through Isildur's lips. Elrond treated both of them as though they were also his brothers, and that meant he trusted Isildur the same as Anárion trusted him. And it had been Isildur who had convinced the others to journey outside of the camp. If something had of happened to them, he never would have forgiven himself.

More sobs broke through and Isildur's foot twitched in a small kick. Elendil glanced at his son's dark red bottom. He lightened his swats considerably and asked quietly, but still loud enough to be heard over Isildur's sobs, "Have you been thinking over what I am about to ask you, child?"

Isildur nodded. "Aye!"

Elendil nodded. "Good, then if you'd like, little one, we can continue this conversation with you right side up. Would you like that?"

Isildur nodded. He still felt guilty about everything, but he knew his father would allow him to apologize and then it would all be over and he would be forgiven. Elendil turned his son gently and pulled him close to him. Then he gestured for Anárion to join them. Anárion jumped up and quickly made his way to his father and brother's side and sat, his feet tucked under him, leaning against his father's shoulder.

"Tell me what you did wrong."

"We s-sneaked out of c-camp." Isildur answered, trying to calm his hitching breathing as his father rubbed circles on his back.

"Very good. And what did I tell you before I went to join Gil-Galad in the command tent?"

"To not go outside the perimeter of camp." Anárion replied quietly.

Elendil nodded. "Aye. And neither one of you listened."

Isilidur looked down, as well did his brother.

"Shh, you have both been disciplined now and it is over. What have you now to say to me?"

"Sorry, father."

"Sorry, _Ada_."

Elendil nodded and brushed the hair from both of their faces before kissing the tops of their dark heads. "Come, both of you. You need to rest."

He helped them to get cleaned up and change out of their filthy and torn attire. They had already pulled their armor off earlier before they had left camp. Once they were dressed he lifted the covers on his large cot and beckoned both boys to climb in. They both did so, reminding Elendil of the times when they were young and had misbehaved. He had always sent them to their own rooms then, but somehow they always ended up in the same one when he got there, usually it being Isildur's.

He covered them with the blanket and bent down to kiss each of their foreheads. His boys smiled happily and closed their eyes. Elendil changed himself and then took one last fond look at his boys before going off to find Gil-Galad and unload the trouble burdening his heart.


	3. Chapter 3

_Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby_ _Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay_ _And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow_ _Bless you with love for the road that you go_

Thranduil wandered farther and farther out across the plains. His head and senses felt numb. His feet moved carelessly and swiftly over the uneven ground.

Had it been less than a week since his father had been cut down? There had been no time to grieve on the battle field, but now that Dagorlad had been won, they were given a short respite. The officers needed time to draw up plans for a siege on Barad-Dur itself.

And though he'd been told to rest Thranduil had only stayed at the camp long enough to give commands that all that was left of his father's troops were to follow the commands of King Gil-Galad.

Thranduil ran all the harder as he thought of the horrid events that had taken place over the past few days. The image of his father's broken and trampled body on the plains flashed through his mind. He had been killed before the real battle had even begun.

Tears fell silently down the young prince's face as he ran. No, not prince…king. His father was dead. So very dead. And that meant he was the king.

Thranduil tripped. He fell face forward onto the sharp rocks, cutting his hands and scraping his knees, further tearing his clothing, the thin, practically useless armor providing little protection just as it had provided no protection to his father. He cried out in pain, but he did not get up. Instead he curled in on himself, and wrapped his arms around his knees. And he wept long and loud. Tears spilt for his mother whom he'd left behind when he came here. Tears for his home and friends. Tears for the horrors he'd seen this past week. Tears for the horrors yet to come. And tears for a fallen father and king.

It was some time before he came out his black swoon of grief and heard a voice on the air. He immediately silenced his sobs and trained his ears to listen.

It sounded as though someone were singing. It seemed a slow and sad lullaby. It was not a lament, which was all he would have expected to hear on the air this dreadful night. He sat up slowly and drew his small knife from his belt, wishing he had brought a better weapon with him. His father would have scolded him for his carelessness, but his father was gone. He would never scold him again.

Thranduil almost burst into tears again at this thought. Strange how one could miss being scolded, but Thranduil did. He would've taken any punishment if only his father were still alive.

The song however, distracted him from his thoughts,

_"Lay down your head and I'll sing you a lullaby_

_Back to the years of loo-li lai-lay_

_And I'll sing you to sleep and I'll sing you tomorrow_

_Bless you with love for the road that you go"_

Thranduil listened with interest and it seemed to his misty eyes that a beautiful Elven figure made their way gracefully across the jagged rocks. Her forest green and gold garments were that of a great Queen. A lilac mantle covered her golden hair. A gentle smile softened her pale face. The figure seemed cloaked in mist and every step she took she faded in and out of the darkness. A broken cry escaped Thranduil's throat.

"Ai!" He cried. "Mother! _Nana! Nana!_"

She made no answer and her lips did not move, yet he heard her voice in his head, singing her old lullaby as clear as day. And abruptly beside her shimmered the image of his father as well.

His clothing was finer than anything Thranduil had ever seen before. Golden and silver threads had been weaved into it. It reminded Thranduil of something he'd seen Gil-Galad wear one time. His hair was clean and no longer stained with blood and the dirt of the Dark Lord's lands. He smiled warmly at Thranduil as well and took the hand of his wife. Then they both flickered once more and disappeared.

"_Ada_!" He cried, but it was too late and the glow that had seemed to fill the still night was no more. All of a sudden Thranduil found himself back where he had been before. Sitting upon the sharp rocks at the edge of Emyn Muil, his hands and knees bleeding, his head pounding, and his face wet with tears.

And it was at that moment that he heard another voice on the wind calling his name.

He cleared his sore throat and recognizing the voice, called back. "I-I am here, Fëaruin!"

Fëaruin had been searching for a good three hours for his king's young son before he finally heard the weeping. He climbed over top the high boulder and on the other side beheld one of the most heart wrenching sights he had yet seen.

The young prince of Greenwood lay sobbing barely a quarter mile away. And with Fëaruin's fair vision he was able to see clearly the events taking place. He saw the prince sit up and stare off into the distance towards Mordor. He heard the young prince cry out for his mother and father. Fëaruin felt tears gathering in his eyes at the shape the new king of the Greenwood was in. He called the prince's name softly, then louder.

Thranduil turned toward his voice and cried out, "I-I am here, Fëaruin!"

Fëaruin swiftly made his way to the young Elf's side. Thranduil looked up at him tearfully, and behind the tears Fëaruin caught a glimpse of the burning grief that ran deep in his elfling. He knelt beside Oropher's son and gently ran a hand down his cheek, brushing away the tears that were merely replaced by more.

"Oh, _hîn_." He whispered. "Shh, you will be alright, all will be well soon."

Thranduil shook his head and stared off towards Mordor again. His gaze became fearful and he looked back to Fëaruin with widened eyes.

"I-I-I saw them, F-Fëaruin. I s-saw them!"

"Saw who, _tithen pen_? Who did you see?"

"_Nana_, and _Ada._ A-and they looked happy. Like they used to l-long ago."

Fëaruin felt his heart break as he gazed back compassionately at the young Ellon. He brushed a strand of filthy hair from Thranduil's face. "But why does that frighten you, _pen neth_?"

Thranduil's lower lip began to tremble again. "B-because they b-both left m-me. They l-left me here alone!" Fresh tears tumbled down his cheeks.

Fëaruin longed to gather up the young frightened elfling, but they were out in the open here and they needed to return to camp as soon as possible.

He grabbed Thranduil's arms and shook him slightly. "Look at me." He commanded in his firm Captain of the Guard voice.

Thranduil did so immediately, recognizing an order when it was given.

Fëaruin spoke sternly, but his voice was soft so as to take the edge out of it. "Come. We must return to camp. The others will be worried when they count us not among them. And we both need rest after this week."

Fëaruin smoothly pulled Thranduil to his feet and wrapped a comforting arm around his shoulders. He supported the limping young elfling for a while as they made their way back over the rocks.

Everything on Thranduil's body ached and throbbed with pain. Sweat mingled with blood on his body and when they were within bowshot of the outskirts of the encampment his legs gave out under him.

Fëaruin bent to pick him up again, this time wrapping one arm under his knees and the other behind his back. Thranduil loosely lifted his arms and wrapped them around Fëaruin's neck as though he were but a young elfling. But he didn't complain. He couldn't have taken another step if he tried.

"Sorry. S-so sorry." He whispered in Fëaruin's ear.

Fëaruin shushed him. "I do not mind, young one. Hush now. Rest for a moment. We still have needs of a discussion ere we take our rest this night."

Thranduil's eyes widened at that and he suddenly left all thoughts of sleep far behind.

"A d-discussion?"

Fëaruin glanced down at him. "Aye."

"Wh-what sort of discussion, sir?" Thranduil was afraid he already knew the answer.

Fëaruin looked down at him again, his eyes slightly sterner. "I believe you know, _pen neth_."

Thranduil groaned and buried his flushed face in Fëaruin's tunic.

Fëaruin grieved at the thought that he had to cause his elfling more pain, but he knew that it was exactly what Thranduil needed. The closeness of a spanking and the love and comfort that followed. He needed to be reminded that there was still someone here that loved him. Someone who would look out for him and reinforce the boundaries when he tried to overstep them.

Luckily most of the troops had already taken advantage of their well fought for rest and had retired for the night, so few saw the new king of Greenwood's disgrace, and those that did would never speak of it.

Fëaruin lifted the flap to Oropher and Thranduil's tent and made his way inside, depositing his elfling on the nearest bed before making his way to stoke up the fire.

When he turned again Thranduil had begun undressing. As he was pulling off his soiled armor Fëaruin made his way to the wash basin and wetted two clean cloths. Then he gently took his charge's scraped and bloodied hands and washed them, drawing a hiss from Thranduil's lips. When he had completed this he handed Thranduil the other wet cloth and instructed him to wash his face and arms while Fëaruin gingerly cleaned Thranduil's scraped knees.

Thranduil felt humbled by this treatment, but yet again no protest rose to his lips, though he doubted it would have done much good. In a way it felt good to be treated like a young elfling again. All of six years old with scraped knees and someone to wipe away his tears and tell him everything would be alright.

Except everything wouldn't be alright. Nothing would ever be the same again.

But no, Thranduil would not think of that now. He turned his thoughts elsewhere.

Thranduil remembered an instance when he'd been very young, probably no more than nine when he had come running off of the training fields a long red welt along his inner forearm. He'd only begun shooting a real bow and he had been so overeager to do so that he'd gone against his _Ada_ and instructor's warnings and had gone out on the training field to practice by himself. Thus it had ended painfully for the young elfling.

As he had gone running and crying in pain and frustration back towards his father's halls he had bumped into someone. He had mumbled an apology and turned to run away when he found an arm fastened around his waist. He was slung around and made to stand before the tall elf that held him captive.

When he looked up he had gasped because before him was his father's tall, strapping, auburn-haired, green eyed, and strict Captain of the Guard.

_"Please, I am sorry, Lord Fëaruin. Please don't hurt me, it won't happen again."_

Fëaruin had given the boy a queer look and then had chuckled softly. There was no telling what the lad had heard about him from the green recruits and he had only ever really seen him at official meetings with his father.

_"I am not going to hurt you,_ pen neth._"_ He knelt down in front of the distressed elfling and put a comforting hand on his arm. _"What is wrong?"_

Thranduil had blinked, utterly shocked. He'd always thought of Fëaruin as being as scary as Sauron or Morgoth himself.

_"I hurt my arm, practicing."_ He held it out slowly, afraid that Fëaruin would laugh at him. Instead the Captain gently took his arm and ran a light hand over the welt.

"_Aye, that likely stings. But why were you not wearing a gauntlet, young one? Surely your instructor would have given you one."_

Thranduil looked down. _"I-I was shooting by myself."_

Fëaruin raised an eyebrow. _"Then I suppose you learned your lesson about that, did you not?"_

Thranduil lifted his eyes and nodded, but the sweet smile and twinkle in Fëaruin's eyes had caused him to give a sort of half smile of his own. Then Fëaruin had taken the king's son and helped him to clean the cut and had even taught him how to properly shoot a bow.

Thranduil remembered this day clearly. Ever since then they had formed a wondrous companionship.

Fëaruin's brow knitted as he concentrated on cleaning the bits of rock and gravel from Thranduil's knees.

"Sometimes I wonder if you are more trouble than your worth." The humor in Fëaruin's voice belied his harsh words.

"I'm sorry I was upset earlier." Thranduil whispered.

Fëaruin stopped and looked up at him, shaking his head. "Hush, Thranduil. Now. You do not need to be sorry for being upset. What you should be sorry for is for running off and worrying me and half of the camp. And you managed to get yourself injured in the process. Ai! It is a by the Valar's grace that you have not given me and your _Ada_ gray hairs with all of your antics over the years."

Thranduil quirked a half grin and Fëaruin smiled at him. He rested a hand on his elfling's now clean cheek and said, "It is good to see you smile, my young elfling. You had grown too grim. I thought you might be starting to become like that Elendil. All of his lot are so grim and grey, are they not?"

Thranduil grinned wholly this time. "And you are just like them, Fëaruin."

Fëaruin chuckled and caressed the back of Thranduil's head fondly. "And you are a brat of a prince." Fëaruin's smile faded as he realized what he'd said. So did Thranduil's.

Fëaruin quickly finished his cleaning and remarked, "I'll see if I can get Lord Elrond to create an herbal poultice for your knees and hands." Fëaruin stood up. "But since you don't seem in danger of bleeding to death, we now will have our discussion, young one."

Thranduil's body went rigid. "B-b-but…"

"No, this discussion does not require your input, little elfling." Fëaruin pulled Thranduil to his feet and sat down in his place.

"But I was upset! I was scared and upset. Does that not count?" Thranduil tried. It never ended well when he tried to reason with Fëaruin, but anything that might get him out of the situation was good enough to try.

"Hush, _pen neth._ I do not intend to be overly harsh. I wish only to express my displeasure about the matter."

And with that he yanked Thranduil's body down over his thighs.

He drew his leggings down to the tops of his knees and tucked his tunic out of the way. Then he rested his hand on Thranduil's bare backside who flinched. Fëaruin drew a deep breath. How he did hate to have to do this to his elfling when the young one was already in so much pain, but as he said, he would not be too harsh. He would make this a short spanking, merely a reminder.

And with that thought he lifted his hand and brought it down. Hard.

Thranduil drew a ragged breath. Tears hadn't been far behind his eyes but now they slipped down his cheeks as the next spank came down in less than a split second, just as hard. And then another, and another, and so on. Thranduil lost count after ten only because after that spank a loud wail was drawn from his lips.

He had never been able to keep quiet for very long when over someone's knee. It had shamed him at first but when he told his father of this he had chuckled and said, _"I give you good reason to yell,_ hîn nin. _Think naught of it."_

"Fëaruin!" He cried. "P-please, please! Too h-hard!"

"Too—" Fëaruin frowned. He lifted his right knee and began spanking Thranduil's under curve where bottom met thigh. Thranduil near wailed the camp down.

"I'll have no more of that Thranduil insolence, is that understood?"

Thranduil was in no position to disagree. He kicked his legs straight out and cried, "Aye, sir! Sorry!"

Fëaruin grunted in acknowledgement and lowered his leg returning his spanks to Thranduil's hot bottom. It wasn't long before Thranduil threw his hand back trying to cover his bottom.

Fëaruin scooped it up and pinned it to his back, not missing a beat. "Now, to begin, young elfling. Why are we here?"

Thranduil answered him in the only way he felt possible. "AHHHH!"

Fëaruin sighed. "You can do better than that."

Thranduil gulped. "Oh! I r-ran off and w-worried you!"

Fëaruin nodded. "Very good. Aye, you did worry me, very much so. Now as to the why."

Thranduil kicked hard and began squirming. Fëaruin landed a flurry of harder smacks to his bottom causing him to arch up and wail anew.

"Tell me, _pen neth_. You are doing very well and we are nearly done."

Thranduil lifted his head from the bedding and sobbed out, "I was scared! And sad! Very, very sad!"

Fëaruin would not press the lad about this, for it was obvious of the reason as to why he was upset. Instead he pressed on, "Aye, I understand that you were overcome with grief, young one. But what would your father have said if you had done such a thing? More like, what would he have done to you if he knew what you had done?"

Thranduil sobbed into the bedding for a moment before answering. "This! H-he would've sp-spanked me!"

Fëaruin nodded. "Aye, and what would he have made you say after he had finished? What have your father and I always made you say after you have been given a spanking?"

"Sorry! S-Sorry f-for worrying you, Fë'ruin!"

Fëaruin ceased his spanking immediately. He had made this a quick lesson. Or at least this spanking had lasted nowhere near as long as most Thranduil had been given. He rubbed his young charge's back for a long while and when Thranduil's tears had subsided somewhat he drew his still filthy leggings back over his sore and rather rosy backside.

Thranduil cried out, "Wait! C-can't I change into a n-nightshirt? P-please, Fëa."

Fëaruin's heart melted at the old nickname. "Aye. I will find you something more comfortable to wear, little one. Would you like for me to now, or wouldst you rather me hold you for a while?"

Thranduil seemed to think about this for a moment then he said somewhat shyly, "Would you find it for me now and then hold me until I go to sleep?"

Fëaruin smiled gently and smoothed Thranduil's golden locks. "Aye. I will. I will stay as long as you like, little one."

Fëaruin slowly turned Thranduil, cradled him to his chest and stood. He gently lay the small shuddering elf back onto the bed on his stomach for a moment and then went in search a night shirt. Once he had located one and helped Thranduil into it, he pulled back the covers and helped Thranduil into the bed.

Fëaruin slipped off his boots, realizing he would most likely be here for a while and lay down beside his beloved elfling, cradling him in his arms. He whispered loving words of reassurance into his ears and slowly rocked back and forth. Every now and then he would smooth Thranduil's hair and plant a loving kiss to his brow or cheek.

He encouraged Thranduil to get some rest but the young elfling simply stared off wide-eyed into space, and Fëaruin did not push him. The child had been through much this week, and though he needed sleep very badly, he was not going to force it on him right now.

"Fëa?" Fëaruin barely heard the meek child-like voice, and would not have, were his sense of hearing not so acute.

"Aye, little one?"

Thranduil hesitated, but was encouraged when Fëaruin kissed his brow again.

"I'm not ready to be king."

Fëaruin glanced down at his young charge, his eyes sad. "I know, _pen neth_."

"I could never wear my father's crown. I would burst into tears ere I could place it on my head."

Fëaruin lay his cheek down on the top of Thranduil's head and closed his eyes. "I know, little one. And you do not have to take up that kingship right now if you so choose. You have put your men under the will of King Gil-Galad."

"But—"

"Shh, rest now young one. We will speak of this more later. But for now, sleep. Your eyelids are drooping, little one."

"But I'm afraid I'll have nightmares." The child-like whimper near made Fëaruin weep out of sadness for his young charge.

"You will not. And if you do I will be here to chase them away, understood?"

Thranduil smiled sleepily and finally closed his eyes. "Aye, sir."

_Epilogue:_

"I see you can still walk." Elrond commented from where he was leaning against a tent pole.

Isildur rolled his eyes while Anárion grinned wryly at him.

"From what _I_ heard _you_ near wailed the camp down." Isildur taunted his good friend as they fell into step beside one another. None of their gaits were fast paced and graceful, but anyone who noticed this mentioned nothing and instead shared quiet grins with one another over it.

Now Elrond rolled his eyes. "I don't wail. Perhaps it was Anárion you heard." Elrond ruffled said man's hair affectionately. Anárion had ducked, expecting the move, but he didn't get away in time.

Anárion smoothed his hair and glared good-naturedly at his brother and friend who were grinning back at him; although Anárion secretly delighted in the attention.

Suddenly Elrond stopped. Isildur bumped into him before also halting and Anárion did the same.

"What?" Isildur asked quietly before following Elrond's wide-eyed gaze.

Thranduil stood at the edge of camp, staring off towards Mordor, a broken silver crown clenched tightly in his fingers.

All three of the companions went silent. Thranduil was singing softly, not a lament as they expected to hear, but a dazed lullaby.

_"May you bring love and may you bring happiness_ _Be loved in return to the end of your days_ _Now fall off to sleep, I'm not meaning to keep you_ _I'll just sit for a while and sing loo-li, lai-lay"_

The gentle hand on his shoulder was enough to snap Thranduil out of his reverie. He turned sharply, his eyes wide, and found himself staring back into compassionate grey ones.

"Are you alright, Thranduil?" Elrond asked quietly.

Thranduil was taken aback for a moment. Elrond had never spoken to him so kindly before. He glanced over Elrond's shoulder at the sons of Elendil. Their compassionate gazes tore at his heart and he swallowed hard before answering, ashamed at how his voce wavered and cracked.

"I will be fine. I-in time."

Elrond nodded. "I understand. If you ever need something, or someone to talk then you are welcome to come to us. Or," he gave a wry grin. "If you need any partners in mischief. And oh, I almost forgot!" Elrond slipped a small jar out of the folds of his cloak. He handed it to Thranduil who accepted it with a questioning look.

"For your hands and knees. Lord Fëaruin said you had injured yourself last night. "Although," He winked at Thranduil. "It works wonders on sore bottoms as well."

With that he did something shocking to every member present. He pulled Thranduil into a brief hug before turning and making his way back through camp to the command tent.

Isildur and Anárion nodded their farewells to Thranduil who was too stunned to do anything other than stare at the spot where Elrond had previously stood.

Never before had any of them spoken to him as such. Normally they would just taunt him into a fabulous rage which would then end in a sore bottom for the poor Oropherion.

Thranduil finally looked back towards Mordor and glanced one last time at fiery Orodruin before whirling around and tightening his hold on the broken crown. He stalked back through camp.

He planned to see to it that his father was avenged. But for now, Thranduil wished to be an elfling a while longer. His father would've rather him done that than spend his days brooding and planning retribution.

And so Thranduil went in search of his new potential partners in crime.

* * *

Pen neth- young one

Tithen edhel- little elfling

Tithen pen- little one

Fëaruin- fiery spirit

Nana-mother, mama

Ada-father, daddy

Hîn- child


End file.
